


i've been looking for you, baby, in every face that i've ever known

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, F/M, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miller didn’t recognize the guy whose ass was currently perched on the counter, next to the register, and it better not be another stoner friend of Jasper’s. The last idiot that Jasper brought in was higher than a kite, and it showed when he knocked over a postcard stand and Miller had to help clean the damn thing up because the friend was too busy cackling like a hyena.</p><p>“Get your ass off that counter.”</p><p>The guy turned, blinking, black hair nearly in his eyes. He was cute, fine, but that didn’t excuse it. No asses on the counters. No matter how tight they were, or how cute the owners were.</p><p> </p><p>Monty and Miller open up a coffee shop together. Modern AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been looking for you, baby, in every face that i've ever known

“ _Hey._ ”

Miller didn’t recognize the guy whose ass was currently perched on the counter, next to the register, and it fucking better not be another stoner friend of Jasper’s. The last idiot that Jasper brought in was higher than a kite, and it showed when he knocked over a postcard stand and Miller had to help clean the damn thing up because the friend was too busy cackling like a hyena.

“Get your ass off that counter.”

The guy turned, blinking, black hair nearly in his eyes. He was cute, fine, but that didn’t excuse it. No asses on the counters. No matter how tight they were, or how cute the owners were.

“Oh,” the guy said, hopping off and landing with a careless grace. “Shit, I’m sorry. I-- didn’t know anyone else was going to be here?”

The bookstore had just closed, but Miller had forgotten a book in his office, and yeah, he could’ve waited until tomorrow but he wanted to finish it _tonight._

Miller narrowed his eyes at that rather suspicious statement. He didn’t look like a new employee-- they had a good amount, but he knew everyone’s names. Who the hell was this guy, anyway? “Really. And you’re not supposed to be here at all. Only Bell--”

“Hey, Miller,” and lo and behold, Bellamy Blake came loping out of the back room, hair askew, glasses perched on his nose. He looked between them. “Oh, I see you’ve met Monty. Monty, this is Nathan Miller, my VP and right-hand man. Miller, this is Monty Green. He’s the co-owner of _Delinquents_.” _Delinquents_ was the hip restaurant next door to _Blake Books,_ and the two businesses decided to enter into a partnership: a small cafe area would open up in the sprawling _Blake Books_ and would be run by _Delinquents_. The tentative name for the cafe was _Little Delinquents._

“Oh.” Miller blinked, feeling a little bit guilty at how he’d barked at the guy earlier. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Monty grinned and shook Miller’s hand, as if sensing the guilt. “Same,” he said cheerfully. “And now I know not to sit on the counters here. Don’t worry,” he said, “I don’t do that in the restaurant.”

Bellamy snorted. “Pretty sure Clarke would kill you if that happened,” he said, referring to the _Delinquents_ ’ other owner.

“She would!” Monty confirmed cheerfully. “But since I’ll be handling a lot of running _Little Delinquents_ , then she might reconsider. She needs me too much.”

“Does Clarke Griffin need anyone?” Bellamy asked. “She’s like a one-woman army.”

Monty cut his eyes over to Bellamy. “Everybody needs somebody,” he said slyly. “Especially people like Clarke Griffin.”

Bellamy blinked at him in confusion, but Monty had already turned to Miller, a sweet smile on his face. “I’m really looking forward to working with you on this,” he said sincerely. “I think this’ll do really well.”

“Same,” Miller said, but he didn’t quite mean it. Bellamy was the one who wanted to bring in the cafe-- Miller wasn’t into the idea, knowing just how valuable that space was. They could have used it for other things, like an event space, or expanding their children’s book area, but he did admit that, when he looked at the plans, that the area was pretty cool, and that having a space for seating was a good idea. People would linger.

Even though he wasn’t gung-ho on the project, Miller was still basically in charge of it. He was good at delegating and organizing, and with Octavia finishing up college and coming back to help run the bookstore, he could shift some of his day-to-day responsibilities on her.

 _Blake Books_ had been in Bellamy and Octavia’s family for three generations; it got hit hard when the eBook craze came around, and they’d lost the original lease of the bookstore their great-grandparents started a century before. Luckily for them, they’d gotten a good deal on a place with more square footage, even if it wasn't in the best area of town. And although they all hated gentrification, it ended up working in their favor because five years later, that area of town, and the bookstore, were doing better than ever.

 _Delinquents_ had opened up a couple years before and Bellamy was locked into a weird rivalry/flirtation with one of the owners. Miller, not one for socializing, had only met Clarke once and had never seen her partner before today.

“So Clarke’s the head chef of Delinquents,” Miller said slowly, “and you’re…?”

“I do everything else,” Monty said cheerfully. “Clarke plans the menus, hires and schedules the staff, handles all of the ordering, etc. But I do the accounting, payroll, and marketing. She and I designed the restaurant together.”

 _Delinquents_ was beautiful, rustic and chic without feeling too kitschy or trendy. Warm and inviting while still feeling effortlessly cool. There was a great outside patio area with a trellis and twinkling lights, one wall covered in ivy, and the other cleverly designed with moss art that Miller had only ever previously seen online. It was part of why Bellamy was so enthusiastic about going into business with them; he knew they’d do a good job and their aesthetic would match the one of _Blake Books._

Miller couldn’t quite figure out how Clarke and Bellamy had decided to go into business together in the first place, and Bellamy, when he asked, would simply say, brusquely, “It just makes sense.” He had his suspicions, and judging by Monty’s comments earlier, it was safe to say he had the same ones Miller did.

Time could only tell if the idea would prove fruitful or not, but until then it seemed that Miller would be seeing a lot more of Monty Green and his cute ass around, whether he liked it or not (he did.)

* * *

Closing down part of your business to open up a completely new one was, in a word, awful. Miller felt like he was being run ragged. In addition to co-running _Blake Books,_ he and Bellamy were training Octavia, and then Miller would squeeze time in to go over things with Monty. Contractors, equipment, designers… permits from the city, inspections, engineers. Lighting, plumbing, wiring… it was making his head spin. And, since Monty’s hours at the restaurant were all over the place, Miller felt like he had absolutely no social life. ("But did you really have one before, anyway?" Bellamy asked when Miller complained. Miller found his lunch and ate it in retaliation.) 

Miller felt like his eyelids weighed a hundred pounds each-- despite the fact that he had slept in that day, he still had his 9-hour closing shift, and now, at 10 PM on a Thursday, he was waiting for Monty to get off so they could talk plans.

Miller had just put his head down on the counter when he heard a knock at the front door of the bookstore, and it was Monty, looking concerned.

Miller went up and opened the door. “Hey,” he said, eyes roving over Monty’s face. “What’s up?”

“You tell me,” Monty said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who looks half-dead.”

Miller exaggerated a wince as he let him in and locked back up. “Ouch, Green,” he said. “You know how vain I am.”

“That would be Bellamy,” Monty said confidently. “Although you wouldn’t know it from his hair and the fact that he would never admit it.”

“True,” Miller said, going back behind the counter, Monty pulling up a stool to sit on the other side, facing him. “What are we going over tonight?”

Monty peered at him. “You sure you’re up for this?” He asked, eyes honing in on the dark circles under Miller’s eyes.

“Yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

This time Monty winced. “I see how it is,” he said. “And here I thought you didn’t completely hate my company.”

Miller felt his stomach drop. “Oh, shit,” he said. “No, fuck, that’s not what I--”

Monty started to laugh. “Nate, don’t worry about it,” he said, not noticing Miller still. “I was just joking.”

Nate. Fuck, he hadn’t heard anyone call him Nate besides his dad since… well, since Bryan. When his ex-boyfriend broke his heart two years ago, Miller was left in a huge rut, and the shy, quiet man became closed-off and hardened. His first name was strictly off-limits to any new acquaintances who managed to get through his rough exterior. Except Monty.

“Hey,” Monty said, bringing Miller’s attention back to the present. “Listen, we’re ahead of schedule, anyway.”

Miller gave him a look.

“Okay,” Monty amended, “we’re ahead of schedule considering we’re waiting for all of our permits to come back from the city. Our designs are sketched out and finalized, we know our contractor, our designer-- we’ve got plumbing and electricity and stuff figured out. The other stuff we can only tackle as it comes, and we can always do menu stuff later. Let’s… you can go home, if you want, or I can make you a drink?”

Miller blinked. “You can _make_ me a drink?”

Monty grinned. “You’ve never been to _Delinquents,_ have you?” He asked.

Miller shook his head sheepishly.

“If you _had_ ,” Monty said pointedly, “you would’ve known that sometimes I bartend and serve when we’re short staffed. I used to bartend in college.”

“Nice,” Miller said, even though he couldn’t really imagine it. Monty, a bartender? 

“Come on,” Monty said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

Wordlessly, Miller followed, locking up for the night-- for good-- and following Monty a mere three-feet over to the _Delinquents_ entrance. It was half-full, warm and lively but not overwhelming. Miller followed Monty over the bar area, where he pulled up a stool at the end, plunking down his heavy messengers bag (weighed down with books-- what else) to the floor.

“What’ll you have?” Monty asked.

Miller raised an eyebrow, feeling a little more lively, a little more like himself. “Surprise me,” he said.

Monty laughed. “Yeah? You sure?”

“Make me something you think I’d like,” he said lowly, “based on what you know about me.”

Monty gave him a look-- it only lasted for a moment, but it was wicked and dark and full of promise.

Before he could help himself, Miller licked his lips, and Monty’s eyes darted to the motion.

“All right,” Monty agreed, his voice pitched a little lower as well. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Miller smirked. “Let’s see what you can do,” he dared.

Five minutes later, Monty put down an amber colored drink with no adornments except a mint leaf. Miller looked at it, didn’t ask what it was, and drank it. It was multi-faceted, strong, bitter at the forefront, and slightly sweet at the end. Monty waited for him, arms braced on the counter, bar rag flung over his shoulder, hair disheveled, eyebrow raised.

Miller’s hand tightened around the glass. “I like it,” he ground out.

Despite Miller’s tone, Monty grinned. “Don’t sound too put out about it,” he joked.

That wasn’t the only thing Miller was willing to put out.

_Shit, what is wrong with me?_

Monty was cute. This Miller had never denied to himself (he was a lot of things-- stubborn, grumpy, occasionally ruthless-- but he never lied to himself.) But there was a difference between finding someone physically attractive and wanting to haul them across the bar counter and have his way with them.

“I have to go,” Miller said abruptly.

Monty tilted his head, looking like a confused puppy. “Why?” He said. “Did you really not like the drink?” He held up a glass. “You can have mine.”

Miller blinked. “Yours?”

“Yeah, I made a drink for myself. What, did you think I was going to work and just leave you sitting here? There’s an open table over there in the corner we can sit at. Have you eaten anything? You can order something.”

The sheer amount of questions being thrown at him caught him off guard. In a bit of a daze, Miller felt himself stand, grab his bag, and let himself be led over to a table by Monty. What was happening here?

They were at a table tucked away in a corner and Monty came back to the table with a menu in hand. “Here,” he said, shoving it at Miller. “Pick something.”

“I’m really not--”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Miller said, but he was more amused than anything.

“I’ll pick your brain about books all throughout dinner if this makes this a little more mutually beneficial,” Monty said. “So just pick something to eat, or I’ll pick for you.”

Miller shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Pick for me. Pick what would go well with the drink.”

Letting out a huff, Monty left again, presumably to tell Clarke what they wanted. In a flash, a waitress came up.

“Are you Monty’s boyfriend?” She asked.

Miller blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You look really familiar,” she said shamelessly. She had long honey blonde hair and he vaguely remembered seeing her around in the bookstore a couple times.

“Uh… no,” Miller said. “We’re just, uh, friends. And we’re working together.” He jerked a thumb to the western wall. “I work at _Blake Books_. Monty and I are handling the renovation there together.”

“Oh!” The girl’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool. I was telling Clarke and Monty I would definitely be interested in helping get everything set up over there when it opens. I used to work at _Starbucks_ , so I have a background in being a barista.”

“Really?” Miller said. “That would be great.”

“Harper,” she said, sticking out her hand.

“Um, Miller,” he said, taking it. “It’s good to meet you. And when it gets closer, um, I don’t know how we’re staffing or who is, but…”

Harper waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Just putting it out there.”

“Cool,” he said.

“So…” Harper grinned. “You’re really not Monty’s boyfriend? Or like, dating?”

“Uhhh…”

“Sorry for the personal questions,” she said, not sorry at all, “but we all really love Monty and just want him to be happy. He’s the best.”

Miller relaxed a little. He could understand that; from across the room he saw Monty talking to another server, smiling as he did. “Nah,” he said, “just friends for now.”

Harper’s eyes followed Miller’s line of sight. “Okay,” she said, with a smirk. Miller turned back to her and she winked at him. _“For now.”_

“What?” Miller blinked, not realizing what he just said. “No, I didn’t mean--”

Harper backed up, hands in the air in surrender. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said. “Just know--”

“Hey, Harper!” Monty bounded up to them, his usual friendly self, but his eyes were a little wary. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Nate and me.”

“Nate?” Harper asked.

Miller fought the urge to grimace. “My first name.”

Harpers smile grew larger, if that was possible. “Interesting,” she said. “I was just telling your friend here that if he needed anything to let me know,” she turned halfway, “but it seems like Monty’s got your needs all taken care of.”

Interestingly enough, that made Monty wince. “Okay, Harper,” he said tightly, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Harper flounced away and Monty took a seat across from Miller. The candle on the table flickered, casting his features into sharp relief, especially the wry, embarrassed smile across his face. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I’ve known Harper for ages and she’s more like my friend than employee.”

Miller shrugged. “I get that,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Didn’t scare you off?” Monty asked lightly.

Miller snorted. “I work with Bellamy and Octavia Blake,” he said. “I don’t scare easily.”

Monty waved a hand dismissively. “Those two are just big softies deep down,” he said. “Now, working with Clarke Griffin…”

Miller didn’t mean to, but he and Monty stayed until _Delinquents_ closed, eating some of the best food Miller’s ever had (Clarke delivered it herself, giving Miller a little wink as she set it down. He was going to have to get revenge somehow, and he already knew it would involve Bellamy.) with some of the best company he’s ever had.

He and Monty started out talking about their project, but that quickly deteriorated into talking about their backgrounds (Miller was, predictably, an English nerd; Monty used to be a food scientist.) They talked about Bellamy and Clarke and how they were just betting on when they would finally get together; they talked about their future plans and their families. Harper kept coming by to keep their water glasses filled and Miller realized that part of the reason why he was so thirsty was because he kept talking so much, and it was easy to talk to Monty, who never seemed to judge what he had to say, who made Miller feel safe and warm and relaxed.

It was so _easy,_ and it scared the hell out of him. When they parted ways for the night, Miller made a mental note that while that night was great (read: fucking perfect) it couldn’t happen again for a multitude of reasons, and if the reason Miller was going to rely on was that it wasn’t professional (and not that the was fucking terrified of getting hurt again,) then so be it.

* * *

Of course, that’s not what happened.

Over the next several months, those sort of-- for lack of a better phrase-- dinner dates became commonplace between Monty and Miller. Once a week after closing Miller would go over to Delinquents with a thick folder of plans and what progress had been made that week and go over it with Monty over a drink. It always started out strictly professional, but once that work was done, Miller could never bring himself to leave, staying at least another hour just to hang out with Monty. Sometimes Monty had payroll stuff to do, so Miller would pull out one of the many books he was reading and finish his drink as they sat in silence.

Every week Miller asked himself what the hell he was doing, and that eventually he needed to tell Monty he wasn’t interested-- but would that be coming across as arrogant? He and Monty flirted, to be sure, but Monty never made a move and neither did Miller. They were stuck in this awful purgatory of flirtatious friendship, and-- fuck, when did they turn into Clarke and Bellamy? (Clarke liked to stomp into _Blake Books_ before her shifts and she and Bellamy would sit in his office and yell about the menu for _Little Delinquents,_ which made no sense to Miller. It was a cafe. You would think the menu would be standard.)

It was perhaps a month before _Little Delinquents_ was set for its grand opening that Miller let it get to him. What was going to happen after _Little Delinquents_ opened? He couldn’t continue doing whatever this was. He had to put an end to things now, before it got too difficult later on.

So after he and Monty were done going over everything (the tables and chairs had arrived; the coffee equipment and plates and mugs were accounted for), Miller stood up from the table, gathering the papers. He caught Monty’s startled expression and tried not to feel guilty.

“Got somewhere to be?” Monty asked, head tilted.

To his dying day, Miller would never understand what possessed him to open his mouth and say: “Uh, yeah. A date.”

_What._

Monty blinked. “Oh,” he said. And then, after a long, awkward pause he gave Miller a small, strained smile. “Have uhh-- have fun, then.”

“Thanks,” Miller said gruffly. “I’ll see you next week?”

Monty’s hand gripped the glass in front of him tightly. “Yup,” he said. “Next week.”

Miller was kicking himself as he went home (alone, obviously) that night, but as he settled into bed, he told himself that it was for the best. It was an easy (cowardly) way of letting Monty know where they stood, and Miller expected things to be awkward the next week at _Delinquents,_ but he didn’t expect things to be so bad. Harper glared at him every time she came by, kicking the back of his hair with the heel of her foot. Clarke definitely over-cooked his order, and the bartender, Raven, gave him the weakest drink he’d ever been served.

And Monty wouldn’t even look at him.

Miller felt a cold, clammy sensation seeping into his skin. He fucked up. He _majorly_ fucked up.

“Hey,” he said when they had finished, Monty already halfway out of his seat. “Are we-- are you okay?”

Monty hesitated for a moment, but then shook his head firmly. “We’re fine,” he said. “I’m just a bit tired tonight. You know how it is-- grand opening is in a couple weeks. Things are hectic.”

“If you’re sure,” Miller said slowly. It was so fucking obvious that things weren’t okay, but he didn’t know how-- or if-- he should call Monty out on it more.

“I am,” Monty said. “I’ll see you around.”

And he bolted.

* * *

Miller knew things had gotten out of hand when Bellamy stuck his head in his office the next week and came in, shutting the door.

“Hey,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, the way he tended to do when he was trying to exude confidence in order to hide his own nervousness. “So, what’s going on with you and Monty?”

Miller narrowed his eyes, annoyed at the gossip mill. “Let me guess,” he said, “Clarke put you up to this.”

Bellamy’s mouth thinned. “This isn’t about Clarke.”

Miller rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands in disbelief. “Why are you here, Bellamy?”

“I’m here because I’m your best friend,” Bellamy said, dropping his arms. “And I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Miller said sharply, but that only seemed to encourage Bellamy, who dropped into a chair across from Miller’s desk.

“Why the hell not?” Bellamy demanded. “When I had my head up my ass after my mom died and nearly let the business fail, you were the one who set me straight, who helped me make up with Octavia, who made sure I didn’t sell out to that shitweasel Pike. You were a friend to me, and I get to be a friend to you.”

“Bellamy,” growled Miller, “leave it alone.”

“No,” Bellamy shot back. “Because right now, it’s _you_ who has your head up your ass. Monty’s great, and he doesn’t deserve you playing him.”

Miller stood up. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” Some friend he was, thinking the worst of him.

“That’s what other people are saying,” Bellamy shot back. “And I told them that’s not how you are. You wouldn’t do that. But just because I know that for sure doesn’t mean I know what you’re thinking.” Bellamy paused, and said, more gently, “So what’s going on?”

Miller deflated, sitting down heavily. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what Monty and I are doing. We don’t hang out outside of _Delinquents_. We text mainly about work stuff. It hasn’t-- nothing’s happened.”

Bellamy watched him closely. “But that doesn’t mean nothing’s going on.”

“Maybe,” Miller confessed quietly. “But I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”

Bellamy sighed. He remembered Bryan. “Then tell Monty that,” he urged. “Don’t let him think that you don’t care.”

Miller winced. “I know,” he said. “I just… I don’t know what I want. I want Monty, but I don’t want to be hurt again.”

Bellamy was quiet for a minute. “I wish I could tell you that Monty won’t ever hurt you,” he said. “But I can’t. We know that. I guess the question you need to answer is if you think he’s worth the risk.” Bellamy’s eyes met Miller’s straight on, and his lips quirked. “Just remember, whatever you decide, I’ll back you up.”

“Thanks,” Miller said, and he meant it.

“Yup,” Bellamy said gruffly, standing up. “Anyway, I’m gonna--” he jerked his thumb back. It pointed to nowhere.

Miller smirked. “So are we not going to talk about what’s going on with you and Griffin?”

“Unlike you,” Bellamy said, walking backwards, “I’ve got a plan.”

As Bellamy shut the door, Miller sighed. Well, that made one of them, at least.

* * *

The thing was, even a week later, Miller still didn’t know what to do. Bellamy and Clarke stepped in and said that they would handle planning the grand opening party for _Little Delinquents,_ and that all Miller and Monty needed to do from that point was make sure everything was ready for opening and to get the word out on social media. Miller was a little annoyed at their meddling, but mostly just relieved.

By some awful unspoken agreement, the two would go to work on  _Little Delinquents_ when the other wasn’t there. Miller couldn’t get that stone out of his stomach that had been there ever since he told Monty that stupid lie-- it was like they had already broken up when they had never really started to begin with.

Miller couldn’t stop himself from imagining what a relationship with Monty would look like, how great it would be. He knew that they would fit perfectly together-- what was he waiting for? Perhaps if things weren’t so stupidly chaotic he would’ve done what he imagined himself doing: marching over to _Delinquents_ , going into the back where Monty and Clarke shared an office, pulling Monty up by the collar of one of those soft cotton shirts he always wore, and kissing the hell out of him.

So here he was, in a pale blue button-up and wool grey slacks Octavia wrestled him into, a signature cocktail in his hand as he scanned the restaurant for Monty. He had barely seen him at all at _Blake Books_ during the official grand opening party, where everyone ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the adorable _Little Delinquents_ , where Harper and Monroe served espresso and everyone nibbled on the pastries that Clarke and Bellamy finally agreed upon having.

This was the unofficial after party, which had spilled out from _Blake Books_ and into _Delinquents_ , which Clarke had shut down early for the _Little Delinquents_ party. Now she and her other cooks were firing up the grills, Harper and Raven were behind the bar mixing up drinks for everyone, and Monty--

Was in a corner, talking animatedly to Jasper.

Miller frowned, taking another sip of his drink. Did those two know each other? He couldn’t recall Jasper or Monty ever mentioning the other to him. Jasper was straight, right? Miller saw the way he was head-over-heels for their newest employee at _Blake Books,_ Maya, but that didn’t mean he was straight. He could be bi. Miller had no clue.

He focused on Monty’s face. He was looking at Jasper with fondness, with affection and familiarity. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything romantic. But what if… but what if Jasper and Monty did have feelings for each other?

It would be what Miller wanted, right? To be single still, to be safe. If Monty and Jasper dated, instead of Monty coming to _Blake Books_ to see Miller on his breaks, it would be to see Jasper. He would talk about books and movies and what concoction Clarke was trying that week with Jasper, not with Miller. Monty would go on rants about how Hollywood screwed up his favorite comic book series and make bets about Clarke and Bellamy with Jasper, not with Miller.

Miller should be happy, relieved. But he wasn’t-- he felt like shit. He knew what he wanted, and he had let it go. Was it too late?

There was only one way to find out.

Finishing off his drink, Miller walked up to the two, feeling out of his depth. “Hey,” he said to them both.

Jasper and Monty looked at him with wide eyes. “H-hey, man,” Jasper said (Miller was too nervous to smirk at the obvious fact that Jasper was deathly afraid of him.) “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he said pleasantly enough, but his eyes were focused on Monty. “Do you mind if we talk?”

Jasper’s eyes went even wider. “Talk to you later, Monty,” He said, already leaving. “Good catching up!”

Monty blinked and turned to Miller. “Sure, I guess,” he said. They were pretty much out of everyone’s way where they were, and Miller figured that people were going to talk if they left together or stayed talking together, so might as well give them a show. “What is it?”

Miller paused, trying to gather his thoughts, but. Fuck it.

“I just wanted to say that I lied,” Miller said abruptly.

Monty frowned. “What?”

“That night,” Miller said, everything tumbling out inelegantly, “when I said I had a date. I didn’t. I haven’t-- there’s nobody else. And maybe I’m not reading this right, but I thought you should know. You’re the only person I’ve been having dinner with for months.”

“Oh,” Monty said, very quietly.

“I really like you. A lot. But I still have some crap leftover from my last relationship, and getting so close to you freaked me out. It’s just so easy, and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. What I did-- lying, hurting you-- that was self-preservation. That was me being selfish, and I’m sorry. But I don’t want you to keep thinking that I’m not into you and that I was leading you on. I like you a lot, but,” Miller brought his hands up, palms out. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

Monty stared at him intently, and licked his lips, a nervous habit that drove Miller crazy. “Telling me how you felt was a good place to start,” he said evenly. “I-- that makes me feel better.”

Miller swallowed. “Yeah?”

Monty nodded. “Yeah,” he said. His hand reached for Miller’s, and the rush of relief Miller felt as he intertwined his fingers with Monty’s left him feeling almost drunk. “We’ll figure it out,” Monty said. “If you… if you want to?”

He might’ve been a complete, oblivious asshole for the past few weeks, but Miller didn’t lie to himself. He knew what he wanted. “Yeah,” he said firmly, giving Monty’s hand a squeeze. “I want to.”

* * *

The rest of the night was so vastly different than how it began that Miller forgot that he was at the same party. After their talk, Miller realized just how subdued Monty had been earlier because now he was so incredibly happy, his face lit up as he worked the room, laughing and drinking.

Miller tried to reign in his own grins, but he couldn’t help it-- seeing Monty happy again made _him_ happy.

“So I see you guys worked things out,” Harper said, handing Miller another drink. She grinned at him approvingly. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too,” Miller said honestly, feeling a little buzzed. “I was an idiot.”

“You were an idiot,” Harper agreed. “But it didn’t take you too long to come to your senses. And you’re a good guy.”

“Thanks,” Miller said. For all of his toughness, Miller didn't enjoy being disliked. 

“But don’t make this a habit,” Harper warned.

“I don’t plan on it,” Miller promised.

“Hey!” Monty said, appearing at his side. “There you are.”

“I was getting drinks,” Miller laughed. “Or did you not remember?”

“Oh,” Monty said, smiling goofily. “That’s right.”

Perhaps they were both a little drunk, because Miller rolled his eyes with affection and leaned over and kissed Monty on the temple, as simple as anything, like he had been doing it forever.

  
Harper just about died.

“You should do that again,” Monty said, smiling up at Miller. “But on the lips.”

Miller laughed, but he thought-- not a bad idea.

“Take him home, Miller,” Harper said with a grin, “I think he needs to sleep it off.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll call an Uber,” Miller agreed.

“What? No, I’m fine,” Monty insisted. “I’m perhaps a little drunk, but I know what I want!”

“We can talk about it,” Miller said, threading his fingers with Monty’s. “Let’s go get your stuff in the office.”

But as they ducked out of sight into the back area, Monty clearly had other plans, pushing Miller against the wall before he could even blink, leaning up, and kissing him.

Miller melted immediately, wrapping his arms around Monty, who framed Miller’s face with his hands. The kiss was light and sweet, but no less nuanced, and when Miller swiped his tongue across Monty’s lips they both moaned.

“My-- office--” Monty said, pulling away and fumbling for the knob.

“What,” Monty frowned. “Why is it locked?” He tried it again, and then they heard it:

“Go away!”

Miller frowned. “ _Bellamy_?” He called.

“Go away, Miller!”

Monty gaped. “ _Clarke_?”

“We’re busy!” Clarke said shamelessly.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said you had a plan,” Miller said, all admiration.

“What part of ‘go away’ do you two not understand?” Clarke said, exasperated. “This guy is finally getting around to making a move on me, and you’re ruining it!”

“All right, we’re gone,” Miller said, pulling Monty away, but not before they heard Bellamy, offended, “ _Finally?_ ”

  
“But _Nate_ ,” Monty said, a slight whine to his voice, “Where are we going to go?”

 _Goddammit, those two assholes_ , Miller thought frantically, Monty’s hand tightening in his. And then-- it came to him.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, giving Monty a wicked grin, pulling him out the door of the restaurant, one hand already fumbling with the keys to the bookstore.

He got the door unlocked and locked it immediately. “What?” Monty’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, go make out in your office?”

Miller grinned. “Even better,” he said. He led Monty to the counter with the cash registers, the same place he first saw him. “Get up here,” he commanded lowly.

Monty’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating as Miller licked his lips. “Yeah?” He asked, slightly breathless. “I thought my ass wasn’t allowed up here?”

“It is if I say it is,” Miller said, his voice rough in that way that sent shivers up Monty’s spine.

Monty hopped up on the counter, legs falling open for Miller to step in between them. The counter was the perfect height for their hips to press together. Slowly Miller curled his hands around Monty’s hips and tugged, both men groaning when they made contact. Then his hands curved down and around, gripping Monty’s ass through his jeans.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Nate,” Monty said. “God, I love your hands.”

“Yeah?” Miller said, lips brushing against Monty’s jaw, the shell of his ear. “You haven’t even felt just what they can do yet.”

Monty cupped Miller’s face in his hands, and fuck, Miller loved Monty’s hands, too, those long, clever fingers and large palms. Monty kissed him wet and dirty, biting down on Miller’s lower lip. “I doubt I’ll be disappointed,” Monty murmured. “Why don’t you prove me right?”

They kissed again, Miller cupping Monty’s ass as Monty rolled his spine, the two settling into a natural rhythm of grinding against each other, teasing each other as their bodies came together and separated, even if it was by mere inches.

Despite that, their kisses were wet, leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. Monty nudged at Miller with his nose, and Miller obliged, tipping his head back so Monty could leave sucking, biting kisses down his neck-- nothing that would leave a mark, but still had Miller groaning his enthusiasm all the same. When he reached Miller’s collarbone, Monty laved his tongue in the hollow of his clavicle, short licks that made Miller want to dig his hands into Monty’s silk hair and pull him further down.

Monty’s mouth skimmed the other side of Miller’s throat before he could react, and Miller’s already frayed control snapped, his lips devouring Monty’s, who responded enthusiastically, his legs coming up to bracket Miller’s waist, bringing them as close as they could get as Monty’s hands explored Miller’s back and shoulders, gripping his biceps, skimming down to his waist, rucking up his shirt and diving under.

Miller shivered under Monty’s ministrations but was no less passive, and if Monty’s kisses were like him, gentle, teasing, Miller’s were harder and rougher, as he detached his mouth from Monty’s and ventured south, sucking at Monty’s pulse point ardently, one hand squeezing between their bodies, palming the front of Monty’s pants, the other sliding up his rib cage and tweaking his nipple.

“God, you fight dirty,” Monty gasped, legs falling away from Miller’s waist, nearly biting into Miller’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah? Wait til you see how I-- _fuck_ ,” Miller said, ending on a gasp himself as Monty’s hands slid around his back, beneath his jeans and boxers, gripping his bare ass in his hands. Oh, god, yes. Miller didn’t think he could wait another minute without feeling more of Monty’s skin on his, counter and cleanliness be damned. Oh, fuck. The counter. The _bookstore._ “Wu-- wait, baby, stop for just a minute.”

Monty pulled away, hands, mouth, looking at Miller. His mouth was berry red, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. Monty looked at Miller, waiting, and he didn’t look disappointed or shocked or concerned; he just waited for Miller to tell him what he wanted, and god, Miller loved that about him. Honestly… he was everything Miller ever wanted.

Suddenly, all of Miller’s doubts and fears from the past few months seemed so-- perhaps not insignificant, because they were legitimate fears. But they didn’t seem to matter as much anymore, because he realized that the person he was taking a risk on-- Monty-- was worth it.

“I--” He looked over his shoulder at the windows behind him. The blinds were drawn, but people could still, perhaps, see their silhouettes with the streetlight just outside the bookshop. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.” He looked back at Monty through his lashes. “If you want?”

He hadn’t brought anyone home since Bryan, two years ago, a fucking eternity, but Miller didn’t want to have casual hook-ups or meaningless sex. He was never that guy, and he felt more vulnerable than he had in ages, but he didn’t know how to communicate that to Monty, how special he really was, what this invite back to Miller’s place really meant. He didn’t want a hook-up; he wanted Monty.

But Monty could read people far better than Miller could-- could read Miller far more easily especially. Monty’s eyes softened, half-lidded, and he cupped Miller’s face again, gentle, and kissed him, wet lips, gentle, probing tongue.

Monty pulled back slightly. “Yeah,” he said, “I do.” And then, that fantastic, wicked grin that only came out of him every once in awhile spread across his face. “Plus,” he said, threading his fingers with Miller’s, “you promised to show me just what these hands are capable of.”

Miller swallowed. “I might not be able to show you it all in just one night. You know, nearly endless talents and all that.”

Monty leaned forward and kissed him again. “Good,” he said firmly. “I was counting on it.”

Miller grinned. “Yeah?”

Monty’s grin turned sheepish. “I had hoped, anyway,” he confessed softly.

Miller stepped away from the counter and Monty hopped down, their hands still together, remaining so even as they left the bookstore, Miller using one hand to lock up the front door.

He had-- not a vision, per se-- but an image come to his mind of doing this every night, Monty emerging from _Delinquents_ next door, Miller locking up _Blake Books_ with Monty by his side, them walking home to Miller’s apartment to watch Netflix and make dinner and curl up in bed.

It’s something he suddenly, desperately wanted to make a reality, and now, with Monty’s hand warm in his, he could.

**Author's Note:**

> Blake Books is based on one of my favorite bookstores in the world, Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle. Delinquents is based on the restaurant next to EBBC, Oddfellows. At Elliott Bay they have a small cafe there run by Oddfellows called Little Oddfellows :)


End file.
